stuff and no nonsense

 stuff and no nonsense

let’s rename poetry

let’s call it ‘stuff’

let’s write stuff

let’s let people no longer

analyse it into ubiquity 

let’s let it move us

to say

don’t let it stop

doing it’s stuff to us

let’s forget the word poetry

stuff it i say

sun you are a star

sun you are a star

the star became a red giant

the poet a dwarf star

a binary pair

they spun many a yarn

across the sky

darkly brightly

daily nightly

they knit many a brow

telescoped many a punch

until the supernova 

exploded onto the scene

then the iron became a nib

carbon the inky night sky

and the book ended 

noting that something isn’t

 noting that something isn’t 

why has life got to be 

for something

why cannot life be for

nothing

more than a 

temporary existence between 

two nothings

or a virtual vacuum 

inside nothing 

i am therefore

     i soon will be not

but sometimes i laugh

at the absurdity of it all

noting that

nothing more to be said

is quite something 

asystole

      
            asystole

      silent scream of
   ——- asystole ——-
       the flat line that
     leads downwards 
    everyone moves on
 you move away from me
        forever closer

a picture of a morning coast

 a picture of a morning coast

nature’s coast of many colours

of many layers

thought’s eye wanders

comes home then wanders

like a border collie

rounding up sighs

that slip the breeze

rustle down the grass

soar in the slow clouds

lay down in the pull waves

a snow-angel thought comes

and raises the widest smile

a homily of home 

indeed it is

too true to believe

 too true to believe

all the belief systems 

over all the eons

none have worked

not one deity has answered

not even to confirm that

we are a lost cause

even before we are born

the odds are stacked

the algorithms are insensate

there is nothing

and that does not answer back

even nothing isn’t it

is it

congratulations ~ great poem

 congratulations ~ great poem

unsure 

the emotions work through

the lines that are knot

straight forward 

are not rational

but the end is ubiquitous 

in that we all end up there

different roads from different 

starting pains

arrive underfoot to be ground

in tears and dust

an american poet in india

 an american poet in india 

he describes the heat

(from the other side of the world)

i glance outside

and it is pissing down

i assume the melt is leaking

(from the other side of the world)

two hands drying slowly

shake on it

sea mist

sea mist

the sea     

becomes 

the mist

  becomes

the sea

dusk

 dusk

the crows collecting the

cackles of their day

gossiping joys away away

branches darkening now 

selecting night’s perches

as the stars blink on and off

the gentle dream of a breeze

tomorrow is roosting in now

moonrise sunrise 

moonrise sunrise

dare we stir the breath

of this eternal way

peeing in Rupert’s brook

peeing in Rupert’s brook

if i should fly

think only this of me

he went for a pee

in some corner of a forlorn field 

that is forever tinkleland 

the planners planned a crescent

 the planners planned a crescent 

sadness is stoned

in the walls between them

the residents and the passersby 

arcs with two ends

and no beginning 

for the residual are reticent

the tenements a testament

to the planners failure to plan

for a plan B that it is plain to see

is absolutely necessary for the

stationary that are left standing still

what follows a thought flowing

 what follows a thought flowing

is there anything as slow

as a fast flowing stream

anything more like a dream 

of the banks of now and again

or the passing of time

like time passing 

in a dream of a stream 

that like this is flowing

ex-static

 ex-static 

a poem that takes me

to a place i have never been

a bridge over a generation 

that never meets in the middle

understanding the words

of the story unfolding

but ecstasy a word only

never a sensation 

for in my day it was drowned

a night out was a back door

into darkness 

ecstasy what’s that

not me

gladly

 gladly 

there are many things

almost too many things

that stir the heart

that raise the spirits

like sunshine upon the wind

a thought that it will return

but might not

but here it is in front of me

gladly come gladly

my son

shut that door

 shut that door

drafts are daft

daft are drafts

are drafts daft

daft drafts are daft

drafts of drafts are drafts

a draft of a draft is a draft

this is a daft draft

that needs redrafting

are you daft

must be a draft 

because i am not daft

am i a draft 

is frightening

but obviously a draft

eh?

bah you are daft